


In Bed With Mycroft

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Mycroft Holmes, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft Loves Sweets, No Eurus Holmes, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Probably Out Of Canon, Sherlock Loves Them Too, Sherlock is a Mess, Sibling Incest, Top Sherlock, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21886258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: Mycroft is prepared for a relaxing evening at home with some work to do. Sherlock has other plans.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes
Comments: 22
Kudos: 97





	In Bed With Mycroft

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing ground-breaking but a drabble that I wrote between my ghastly shifts. I hope it brightens up your day a bit :)

Mycroft stuffed a second pillow behind his head. Yes. That was better. He pulled the blanket up and reached out for his laptop, which was sitting on his night stand. Contently, he looked at the glass of wine and the small plate with a few delicious and pricey chocolates in his favourite flavours in reach – his only real vice these days. They were kept in thin paper so he didn’t soil his bed.

This was bliss. No matter that he had to read two reports he hadn’t had time for all day. It still felt like… a holiday? Yes. A tiny, modest one but still some sort of holiday, here in his refuge, his very private chamber, his impeccably neat bedroom.

It was only nine pm but he was in his bed with the warm, fluffy linen already and would only leave it for brushing his teeth and getting the dishes to the kitchen. In just twenty minutes, he would be finished and ready to sleep for eight hours. The long day that lay behind him settled in his mind and he just had to do this tiny chore before he was free to drift to sleep and hopefully enjoy pleasant dreams.

He had just opened the first file when he heard the front door being opened. That was unexpected. They had made an appointment for the next evening. Was there something wrong? He checked his phone. No text. Never a good sign.

And then he burst into the room, all ruffled curls, pink cheeks and the sinful mouth in a pout, the coat falling to the floor, thunderclouds on his face. “Idiots, Mycroft! They are all idiots!” The deep baritone was almost a whine.

Mycroft smiled, feeling relieved. Ah. That was not exactly unprecedented. No emergency. No danger night. Just a detective upset and eager for a sweet distraction. “Good evening, little brother. Do you want to stay?”

“Yes!” Sherlock hurried to undress and scrambled onto the mattress only a minute later, naked but for his pants. And socks.

Mycroft wasn’t overly fond of socks in his bed but he didn’t chide Sherlock. Instead he smiled when a heavy head dropped rather painfully onto his chest. He managed to balance his computer and stuff the blanket around a rather cool body. The air was chilly tonight.

Sherlock huffed and buried his face against his neck, making goose bumps breaking out on his warm skin.

“I need to read this but it won’t take me long.” The older man put the laptop back in place. It wasn’t quite as comfortable anymore but rather nice.

Sherlock nodded against his neck and brushed a kiss onto it. “Idiots,” he grumbled again.

Mycroft patted his head. “I know, little brother. I’m surrounded by them, too.” Each and every day. At least Sherlock had the advantage of not having to be polite to them. Well, he had to contain himself if he wanted them to do something for him. Apparently this had been the case today, probably several times, and it had annoyed baby brother a whole lot. Manipulating the goldfish could be to the Holmeses benefits but it was a dreadful task nonetheless.

“Here, have this for your patience.” He offered a chocolate to his brother – scotch truffle – and Sherlock took it and ate it in one piece, humming in contentment.

To his pleasure, Sherlock just lay there for a few minutes, hardly moving, his hand on Mycroft's clothed stomach. It felt indeed very nice. And it was a bit distracting but Mycroft Holmes was able to focus on his work if he had to. And he did. He might have read even faster than usual, and sooner than expected, he had memorised the contents of the first report and hurried to open the second file.

Sherlock stirred at that and made an indignant move and a quiet sound of displeasure.

“I’ll be finished very soon,” Mycroft assured him but he was not a bit surprised when the hand on his stomach very slowly moved southwards. “Sherlock...”

Sherlock sighed deeply against his skin but kept his hand from his pyjama pants, and Mycroft smiled, focusing on the columns about an imminent mission of the MI6 again after pecking Sherlock's forehead. Sherlock didn’t even try to glance at the report, which said a lot about his condition.

Mycroft did have to concentrate hard on the information as any slipping could endanger the mission and the lives of the agents involved. It took too long obviously as a large, now thankfully pretty warm hand slid under the seam of his trousers.

“Brother… Five more minutes. Please.”

Sherlock mumbled something he didn’t quite understand but he might have detected the word ‘horny’.

He gave his brother’s shoulder a soothing squeeze and reached for another one of the chocolates – bittersweet chocolate with a marzipan- and black-cherry-centre – and held it out in front of his soft lips. Sherlock bit half of it off this time, his mouth touching Mycroft's fingers in the go, and it was very hard not to think about which wonderful things these lips could and in all probability would soon do, but with Herculean effort, he fed Sherlock the rest of the chocolate and then blanked him out so he wouldn’t miss anything. And Sherlock understood the importance and kept still again, except for licking his lips and ‘accidentally’ lapping over the sensitive skin beneath Mycroft's ear once, which made Mycroft elicit an almost inedible groan much to Sherlock's obvious delight.

“Finished,” the older brother said after a few minutes of concentrated reading. He shut down his laptop and put it on the night stand, avoiding pushing his glass over the edge. “Would you like some wine?”

“No. I want _you_.”

“Well, I’m all yours to do with me as you wish,” Mycroft generously offered. Anyone else might have found this a dangerous invitation, but of course nobody knew about their relationship and Mycroft knew he had nothing to fear.

“Thought you’d never say it,” Sherlock grumbled and hurried to open the buttons of Mycroft's pyjama top.

“You were very patient,” Mycroft praised him with a smile and closed his eyes when those special lips kissed his left nipple.

“Don’t be condescending,” Sherlock protested and graced the stiff little nub with his teeth.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Mycroft assured him, his fingers carding through thick, black curls. He would have quarrelled with the genetics that had given him more or less no hair at all but instead a long nose and a silly dimple in his chin, making his round face look like a pomelo in his eyes but had spoilt his brother with this mop of hair, incredible eyes, cheekbones to cut your hand at and the most beautiful mouth everyone had ever laid eyes on. But since it was to his own benefit in the end and Sherlock didn’t exactly seem to mind his flaws, he had made his peace with the facts years ago. Still he used his treadmill excessively to fight his tendency for chubbiness as he really didn't want to see any fat rolls when comparing himself to the sculpted muscles on Sherlock’s smooth stomach.

“No idiots here,” Sherlock stated, nuzzling his face against Mycroft's heavily hairy chest.

His pants (and thankfully, his socks) seemed to have vanished by themselves, and Mycroft glanced at the creamy-white skin of his brothers naked bum. A sight that never got old.

“No,” he confirmed. His intellect and the similarity of their minds had certainly been a big factor for Sherlock deciding he wanted to start a decidedly not-brotherly relationship with him, but to his delight, Sherlock clearly appreciated his physical attributes as well, and, obviously, him as the complicated human being that he was.

He gasped when a hot tongue was invading his navel. He smiled with closed eyes when his pyjama trousers were pulled over his hips and bottom along with his pants. His large cock, already plump at the prospect of things to come, sprang up against Sherlock's handsome face, and the greedy look in his little brother’s eyes when he grabbed the thick appendage was breathtaking – as it was every time.

“First chocolate, now a lolly,” Sherlock said with a satisfied smirk, and Mycroft chuckled, but the chuckle turned into a moan when Sherlock deftly started sucking his lolly, his hand cunningly working over Mycroft's heavy balls, pulling at them, always on the right side of an exquisite pain, building up a delicious tension in Mycroft's groin.

Knowing it was Sherlock's mission to get him off now, not to reach his own satisfaction in return for now, Mycroft handed himself over to his ministrations, crossing his arms behind his back, happy to feel his arousal building up quickly and to watch his prick sliding in and out of his brother’s amazing mouth, moaning when Sherlock let his tongue swirl around the engorged head, making him very wet with his spit just to lick it off again, teasing his slit and stimulating his fraenulum in ways that set Mycroft's groin on fire.

“You’ve got a devious tongue, brother mine,” he purred, and Sherlock grinned at him around his cock.

“I’ve heard that from many people.”

Mycroft playfully narrowed his eyes. “I do hope only when you insulted them.”

“Naturally. If they even realised they’d been insulted...” Sherlock went on sucking him and Mycroft grinned at his cheeky brother.

Oh, the goldfish around him thought he had turned into a nice man thanks to John Watson. So easy to fool, these common people. They would never see Sherlock's true self. They would never be in the position Mycroft was holding now. And had been for the last six years. For the world they were brothers, even more enemies than brothers. In this house, they were so much more, and Mycroft surely felt blessed to be graced with Sherlock's sentiment and physical attention.

Mycroft was getting close now. Sherlock was determined to make him climax and not even Mycroft's self-control could resist his efficient efforts for very long. And it was sweet to resist but sweeter to surrender.

A gentlemanly warning was not necessary. Not only did Sherlock know the signs of him tumbling over the edge inside out, he would have been appalled to be told to get away. When Mycroft bucked up with a low groan and his crisis made all the muscles in his groin contract in the moment of release, Sherlock sucked him even greedier. His seed was swallowed with great pleasure as he knew and his softening prick was licked clean thoroughly. Not a drop of come was wasted.

“Thank you, brother,” Mycroft mumbled when he had regained his ability to speak again. “Go ahead. I’m afraid you’ve got to do all the work now.”

“Don’t worry. I’m aware of your contempt for legwork.” Sherlock winked at him while he was reaching over to open the top drawer of the night stand.

“It’s ghastly,” Mycroft confirmed, placing a pillow under his bottom. “That’s the most you can expect from me.”

“Fine with me.”

Little brother had always had boundless energy. Mycroft knew he was in for a fierce ride. He didn’t mind in the least. His muscles were rather relaxed from having orgasmed, and he could feel himself getting sufficiently loosened up quickly when Sherlock worked two sticky fingers into him and then slowly inserted his long, thick cock into him, watching him closely so he wouldn’t miss any signs of displeasure.

There weren’t any. Mycroft's body accepted the intrusion of baby brother willingly. It was well used to it. So was Sherlock's to his, of course. They both believed in taking as much as they were giving, in fighting and fucking, if Mycroft would have been so inclined to use such language.

Their fighting was long over though. In the beginning of their relationship, there had been arguments, fights for domination. In a bond of brothers with such an age gap and their unique characters, it had been inevitable. Sherlock had always rebelled against authorities, and for a while he hadn’t been able to get rid of the feeling Mycroft felt superior to him. It had taken them a while to figure out that they were indeed meeting eye to eye.

Things had become more complicated again with John Watson appearing on the scene. Mycroft had been jealous and it had not been that easy to accept Sherlock moving in with another man, as straight as he might be. And all the things that had happened since then, including having to deceive everybody about the true nature of their relationship, had been a challenge that had hardly been easy to master.

In the end, they had weathered all the storms and come out with stronger ties than before. Time to be spent together was rare, naturally, but they made the best of the time they had.

And when Sherlock arranged his legs over his shoulders now to reach a deeper angle of penetration, Mycroft let himself be zoned out once more. On the heavily shaking mattress, he welcomed getting taken with abandon by a man who had been in dire need of letting off the steam of a highly frustrating day when he had arrived here.

The noises of clashing of skin on skin filled the room, two voices were moaning deep and low, and Mycroft was, middle-aged or not, getting close to his second climax on this evening. He re-arranged his legs around Sherlock's waist when Sherlock pulled back eventually to make it more comfortable for him again without breaking the penetration. He slung his arms around Sherlock's neck when his brother bent down to claim his mouth in a possessive kiss, teeth clacking, tongues roughly pushing against each other. Sherlock’s hot breathing into his mouth was a peculiar turn-on and Mycroft met his brother’s relentless strokes with equal force now, eager to push him over the edge.

“Paint me inside, little brother,” he breathed into his ear, making Sherlock growl deep in his throat.

“Pervert,” he panted, and Mycroft chuckled.

“Yes. Paint your pervert prick of a...”

“...prother?” Sherlock joked while hammering inside him without any hint of mercy.

“Yes,” Mycroft smirked, and then he sighed, feeling his climax claim his body once more.

“And all together now...” Sherlock groaned and came with a cry, filling Mycroft with streams of hot semen while Mycroft let himself be washed away by the waves of completion again.

They stayed entangled with each other for a few minutes, Sherlock having collapsed on him with an expression of sheer bliss on his face.

Mycroft eventually reached out for another chocolate – ginger with walnuts – and shared it with Sherlock by offering him half of it with his teeth.

“Good,” Sherlock mumbled.

“All good,” Mycroft confirmed, stroking his now slightly sweaty hair. “I guess we should refresh ourselves now.”

“Mm. In a while. Comfy now.”

“I bet. I make for a good cushion.”

“The best. Will come back tomorrow as planned.”

“I should hope so.” Mycroft played with a stray curl and a small, delicate ear. “Better now, hm?”

Sherlock yawned. “Very. Love you, brother.”

“Because I’m feeding you with chocolates?”

Sherlock smiled. “Yes. Everything’s sweet here.”

There was hardly anything more appealing than a cuddly Sherlock with sentiment on his mind. Mycroft managed to arrange the blanket over him so he wouldn’t be cold, his little brother, menace and joy of his life.

“Love you, too, Lockie.” He knew if anyone dared call him by such a name, Sherlock would probably break their arm.

As it was, he just smiled. “Mycie and Lockie, huh?”

“The power couple.”

Sherlock kissed his neck. “The smart ones.”

“Smartarses, people would say.”

“They can kiss our...”

“Yes. No, in fact.”

“Want to kiss mine?” Sherlock raised his head, looking at him inquiringly.

“Oh yes. After taking a shower with you.”

“Fine with me. I’ve got a nice arse, yes?”

Mycroft laughed. “Fishing for compliments, love? Yes. The nicest.”

“You shouldn’t look at any others.”

“I don’t.” Mycroft squeezed him tight. Where would have been the sense in that? Everyone he needed and everyone he had ever wanted was right here, in his arms, where he belonged.

Bored or annoyed, horny or pissed off – Sherlock knew he could always come and would always find his arms (and heart) open. This was how it should be for the smart brothers Holmes.


End file.
